In keeping with the more positive feedback I received from my last post, which focused less on sardonic cruelty and more on things I don't hate, I present Part 2 of my continued series of happy things:
1. Mizzou
"Every true son..."
How can I describe my devotion to this school? I'm the fourth member in two generations of Congers to go through the J-School program. I was at my first Mizzou football game when I was two years old. I remember gaining reproachful looks from my mother when I shouted "Colorado ain't shit!" at the tender age of 5. (I heard a person in the bathroom say it.) I've been in a half dozen states for Missouri football, following my team fearlessly to Dallas, San Antonio, Tempe, Kansas City, and...Lawrence. (May it burn once again.)
I remember Brad Smith. (Remember Blaine Gabbert? Well before him we had Chase Daniel. [now 2nd string for the Saints.]) Before both of them we had Brad Smith, a man who led our football team from seasons where I and my father glumly accepted a 7-6 season as "not too bad" to consistent bowl game appearances. One of my most vivid memories from my childhood was October 11, 2003 on Faurot Field vs Nebraska. Our first victory over the Cornhuskers (may their heads be stricken from their shoulders) since 1979, the game took place in the pouring rain. We were behind until the third quarter, when a fake-field-goal turned into a huge touchdown run by our former quarterback, who now plays special teams and WR for the Jets.
God I love this school. Besides sports, besides always knowing, in some place of me, that I would someday graduate from Mizzou, the people that I've met in my first year only have convinced me of the school's worth. Special thanks to the Delta Chi Fraternity, the men and women of Mark Twain, and the instant-constipation food of Mark Twain Market for those experiences.
2. Plans for the Future
I imagine a group....harem...concubine of women following me in a dozen identical silver Mercedes roadsters. Leading the pack in a black Lamborghini (The car I generally drive on alternate Tuesdays, when I can fit it in with my other sports cars' schedules.) I rocket down the Autobahn at speeds exceeding 180 mph. (I refuse to use kilometers, even in Europe.) The police won't dare stop me in the restricted parts of the highway-I pay most of their salaries. Also, my night-time hobby of vigilante justice as a masked crime fighter makes their lives easier. (I don't have any super powers, but I do have a black belt in almost everything except Taekwondo, the Dane Cook of martial arts. My costume is actually sponsored by Underarmour and Vineyard Vines. Everybody knows my identity, but my mercenaries (hired through a company that I own) will protect me.
Where am I going? Oh, just to my fifth home. (this one is technically a castle. The German government was trying to dissuade me from buying it, but I won them over with my perfect teeth and 60 million dollars in a dramatic briefcase.) I'm just driving from Paris, where my third home is. Thankfully, I've had all the French people exported and replaced by Americans. (I know French, it is my 10th language, but I refuse to speak it.) I usually take a jet fighter over the Ardennes to lessen travel time.
I'll probably just go to my castle to do a bit of charity work. Set up a soup kitchen for underprivileged and disabled youth, who I have to have shipped in because I've set up so many wonderful schools in the area. It will be outside the castle gates, because it would be a shame if their tiny crutches were to damage my careful landscaping.
This is the life I can imagine in my wildest dreams. (I know this will not happen to anyone.) Instead, I'm in a Midwestern city. My family is in a high enough tax bracket (Look at that whale on my shirt. That speaks volumes, considering I paid a 300% upmark for it.) but none of us are driving Lamborghinis and we don't have enough cars to have weekly rotation schedules.
Question is-What do I do with my life? How do I attain my major goal, which will be revealed in just a moment? (This is where I will reveal a terrible thing about me; actually it's wonderful, but that's another discussion.)
I love money and wealth. Say what you want about it not being able to buy happiness (those people who say that just don't know where to shop.) or it being the root of all evil (which in fact is Socialism) but I see it as a sign of success and a measurable value of productivity.
I am willing to do anything for the right price. You know those appalling "truth.com" commercials where they ask: "Would you accept 60 million a year to be a tobacco lobbyist, knowing you are helping companies kill thousands each year?"
Yes. I would. I would probably accept a mere 15 million for that position. Likewise, I could be an illegal arms merchant. (As long as I only sell guns to American people. I consider my countrymen trustworthy. My private army, at least, ensures that no personal harm will come to me.) I could also be a lawyer who worked his damndest to defend white collar corporate embezzlers. As long as that paycheck has 7 digits, I'll do just about anything for it. If it has six, the odds go down a lot, but I'll still be more than happy with that. I'm looking for more than 5. No offense to any income bracket of my readers, but I've grown accustomed to a certain level of comfort and ease in my childhood. I want to replicate what I consider a fantastic experience for my children one day. I'm not saying my children will be better than yours (though genetically the odds are on my side, I mean....) but they will not want for anything. (Except nice cars when they turn 16, that's bullshit.)
I'm not saying give children whatever they want. My true goal in life is never to have to say no to my children because I am unable to provide. "Dad, can I have Jay-Z perform for my 18th birthday?" "Hell no you can't. I could get you him, by god, but I won't on principle."
I can sum up this section in a TFM I saw today:
"If I were to be killed, they would call it an assassination. TFM."
3.
Cue banjos:
Oh, I wish I were in the land of cotton,
Old times there were not forgotten,
Look away! Look away! Look away,
Dixieland!
I have only visited the South a few times in my life. The first was to Texas. I will say right now that I wasn't impressed. Come on guys, you aren't a separate country, as much as we might prefer it. We only keep you because you balance out our flag.
The second was a road trip through Kentucky, West Virginia, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. Since I was in a car for about 6 days total in 2 weeks and I was maybe 12 years old, I couldn't have given a care less about what was outside the window.
My REAL visit was to Mobile, Alabama. First off, this city is straight underrated. Even if their skyline is three buildings, (two of which are the exact same, but one is smaller.) or they cut down trees to find leprechaun gold underneath, it's a beautiful place. There are trees everywhere, the grass is green, it's always at least a bit warm, and everybody drives trucks.
Sure, there are a lot of cut offs, dip cans, and giant boosted suspension trucks with American eagle (not the brand, don't get your hopes up GDIS) decals on the back windows, but I still love it. Everybody I met was more polite. Overall, people were better dressers. Croakies were looked on with acceptance instead of scorn. (Side note about those-they are both comfortable, convenient, and show people you have money by placing a nice brand on the back of your neck like a tattoo. If anybody says, "but I don't care about people knowing I have money" then shame on you. If that were true, everybody would drive Kias and wear clothes from the Gap. (Sorry Gap. It had to come out eventually. You and I had a good run, but I'd like you to quit calling late in the night and begging me to take you back. I have a new significant other now, and he has a tiny horse and a mallet. You can't offer me that.)
Since my frat-aside is now complete, let me get back to things that make me happy.
I love the South now. Even Mississippi (Or Missippi for Winn) was fun to drive through. (More fun than Arkansas. But so is catheter insertion.) I loved being around Southern people, who had courtesy and friendliness you don't find in the North, and, though the Midwest is better, it's just not as good. I loved the food, which was generally fried and served in larger portions than the ones to which I am accustomed. I liked that people can hang out on the beach all day, any day. I liked that people would just say "Roll Tide" to each other when they were clearly strangers. I even love the smell. It smells like greasy food, the ocean, and secession. (THE SOUTH WILL RISE AGAIN!)
/rant
In Dixieland, I'll make my stand,
To live and die,
IN DIXIE!
I can only hope. Thank you for reading this far, if you did. If you skipped to the last line, shame on you, but like the link anyway. It'll make me feel miles better, and we all know I have a problem with self esteem.
-Max
P.S. This series is likely ended. On the next "Study in Max:"
Max finds himself in a predicament! Nothing good is on TV and my workout schedule is moving from dedicated to self-abusive.
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